Shadows on the Light Side
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: The Things We Left Behind tag: After Dean leaves behind a roomful of dead, Castiel considers his friend's plea to stop him if he goes too far. (Castiel POV)


**Shadows on the Light Side**  
 **K Hanna Korossy**

Castiel was a warrior. He was no stranger to battle, to casualties. Still, he looked upon the room full of bodies with horror.

It did help, yes, that Dean, Castiel's closest human friend and closest remaining friend, was the one survivor in this room of death. When he'd heard the shots, the cries, he had feared worse. So, he was certain, had Sam.

But Sam was crouched now before his brother, hands on his face, speaking urgently, worriedly to him. And Dean was on his knees, painted with blood, stunned by what he'd wrought…the men he'd murdered.

Claire burrowed into Castiel's side like a child into her father's. Castiel had automatically turned her away from the carnage, but as her breath hitched on tears, it broke his immobility. He swept her out the door, leaving the two brothers on the floor behind him. Castiel caught one last glimpse of the distress in Dean's eyes before he left the house.

They hustled back to the car, Castiel easing the girl into the back seat, where again she clung to him. He had no experience with human children, let alone how to comfort them, but drew on the cultural tropes Metatron had given him, model fathers such as Ward Cleaver and Danny Tanner. Stroking her hair felt…awkward, and he wasn't sure he was doing it right, but it seemed a necessary gesture. As did words that meant nothing but still seemed to comfort, "It's okay, it will be all right."

The front car door opened, and Sam was shoving Dean into the passenger seat, much as Castiel had maneuvered a pliant Claire. The smell of blood and death came with him, and Claire pressed a little tighter against Castiel, but there was nothing he could do about that. He continued his useless patter even as he stared at the back of his silent friend.

Sam had pulled the keys out of his brother's pocket, and paused before shutting the door to meet Castiel's eyes. "Is she okay?"

Another call for meaningless answers. "Yes," Castiel said, even as Claire shuddered.

Sam knew; his eyes said as much. And he was frightened. "I'll be right back." He clasped Dean's shoulder, then shut the door.

Dean didn't move.

Castiel heard the trunk open behind them, then close seconds later. Sam's steps hurried back to the house. Castiel's senses were not limited to his human body, and he could hear the slosh of liquid inside, then, moments later, the whoosh of catching flame.

Sam was burning the house down.

It made sense; there was probably significant evidence of their presence inside. Especially of Claire, and Castiel's arm tightened against his will at the thought of how he'd found her, the man on top of her, about to assault her. The anger he felt surprised even him.

And Dean's would have been so much greater because of that accursed Mark.

The driver's door opened, and Sam threw himself into the car, already starting the engine. "They'll find the bodies, but that's it," he said into the mirror to Castiel as he swerved the car out into the street.

Castiel nodded, not quite agreement but understanding.

Dean still didn't move.

Sam glanced at him often as he drove, his frantic turns soon smoothing out into the unobtrusive driving that Castiel had already learned attracted no attention. Once, Castiel heard him murmur his brother's name, but whatever Dean's reaction was, or was not, it did not encourage Sam to continue.

Claire had finally exhausted her tears and was sagging in Castiel's grip, more fatigued than traumatized now. She had already gone through so much in her young life. Castiel touched her forehead and put her into a deep, refreshing sleep, the least he could do.

"Are you returning to Kansas?" he asked Sam then.

"No, it's too far. I'm just getting out of town—we'll get rooms for the night." Sam took another look at his unresponsive brother.

Castiel agreed with that logic. He considered offering Sam a meaningless platitude, or saying something to Dean, but neither seemed a productive venture so Castiel subsided with his thoughts.

Dean had asked Castiel to stop him if he went "dark side." _Take him out_ , were his exact words, and though he'd elaborated on ways Castiel could do so, he had not clarified what going _dark side_ entailed. Did massacring a room full of people qualify? Did it matter if the people had been bad men, if he'd warned them first, if they'd been the first to draw blood?

If Dean looked as if he'd lost the fight?

It was just short of an hour when the Impala finally pulled off the highway into the parking lot of a motel. It was a long and low building, with doors opening to the outside, the kind Castiel knew the Winchesters preferred and understood better now why. Sam parked away from the office and jogged over, returning a few minutes later with a pair of keys. As he got into the car, he met Castiel's eyes again in the mirror. "I got one room for both of you."

"That's fine," Castiel said. He did not sleep anyway, and Claire would not even know he was there.

Sam nodded and drove a few doors down. "Ten," he said shortly, getting out of the car again.

Dean didn't move.

As Castiel got out and easily picked Claire up into his arms, he saw that Sam had only left the car to open the door for Castiel. He'd propped it open, went and did the same to the room next door, and then just stood and waited until Castiel and Claire went inside. As Castiel passed him, Sam nodded and said, "We'll head out at about eight, okay? There's free breakfast in the main office in the morning."

"All right," Castiel said, then hesitated. His eyes locked with Sam over Claire's head.

Sam swallowed, the film of tears doubtless blurring his view of Castiel. "He's gonna be okay."

"Of course." He was certain Sam did not know what Dean had asked of him.

Neither of them reassured, they parted ways, Sam closing the door behind Castiel.

He made Claire comfortable on the bed, pulling the bedspread back, laying her head on the pillow, removing her jacket and her shoes. She was thinner than she'd appeared, without her shield of layers, and he mourned again for the life he'd unwittingly stolen from this child, this family. He did not know what he could have done differently, and it was useless to think about past alternatives, but he couldn't seem to stop it. Perhaps it was the humanity that remained in him. And his penance.

As he worked, he also listened to the muffled sounds next door. The two pairs of footsteps, one stumbling. Sam's quiet words, confident once again, and Dean's short, hoarse responses. After a while, the shower came on.

And he could hear Dean's choked sobs under the patter of the water. The way his bed creaked softly throughout the night as he tried and failed to find rest. The snatches of silent prayers Sam began to offer, then discarded.

It was a paradoxically longer night than the few short hours they spent there, even though the chair Castiel sat in was physically comfortable. And still not enough time to sort through all his thoughts.

Claire stirred soon after the sun's rays penetrated the curtains of the room. Castiel could see the moment of innocence and peace when her eyes first opened, followed almost immediately by sadness and wariness. She looked around the room, then back at him. "Where are we?"

"A motel. I'm not certain of the town, although I believe we are still in Illinois."

Her mouth curled downward, and it occurred to him she had just left the only place she'd ever known.

He hesitated. "I could help you return to Pontiac, but I don't think it's wise with…"

She got up, a blanket wound around her even though she was not undressed. "No, I get it. Nothing like being tied to a multiple murder scene to put you on the cops' radar." She gave him a twisted smile and disappeared into the bathroom.

Castiel gave a human sigh.

There was a tap on the door a minute later. He was already expecting it, having heard the movement next door, and opened it quickly. Sam almost looked startled.

"Hey. Sounded like you guys were up. We're, uh, ready to go soon if you are."

"Breakfast?" Castiel asked, eyebrow raised. He didn't need it, but he was with three humans who could all use fuel after the previous day.

"I grabbed something, and Dean…" A sad smile flickered across Sam's face. "Claire gonna…?"

"I'm not certain she wishes to return with us," Castiel said. He could hear her lack of movement in the bathroom and knew she was listening, and she didn't correct him. "I think you should go on alone."

Sam frowned. "Are you sure? Your car's still in Pontiac, right?"

"We'll be fine," Castiel said, and this time it wasn't a complete falsehood. He would find his way back to his car, and help Claire with whatever she decided to do.

"Oh!" Sam's face cleared, and he reached for his back pocket. "That reminds me." He pulled out a familiar billfold. "I found it at Randy's. No more money, but…" He held it out apologetically to Castiel.

But it had the credit cards Dean had helped him set up "for emergencies," and his license. And traces of blood invisible to the human eye, but Castiel gratefully took it. "Thank you."

The door beside them opened, and Dean emerged, gaunt and hollow-eyed but mobile. His gaze went from Sam to Castiel to the wall.

"Hey."

"Dean," he said gently.

Dean nodded and turned toward the car.

Sam offered another fleeting smile. "He's, uh…" Sorrow creased his face. "He tried to stop it. I'm not gonna say it was pure self-defense, but they trapped him. He—"

"Sam," Castiel interrupted, hand up. "I know."

Sam looked so broken up, it was almost painful. The little brother side Castiel had rarely seen, the concerned brother he usually was, the protective big brother that was ordinarily Dean's role, and all at a loss.

"I understand." And he actually truly did.

Castiel had thought a lot that night. About when he'd done on his own bloody soul-fueled rampage. About Sam's soulless and demon blood-tainted deeds. About Dean's forgiveness and love, and all the acts of heroism and sacrifice throughout. The mistakes, but also the impossible decisions and burdens that had led to them.

Seeing now the slumped shoulders and the despondency in Dean's eyes, and the untarnished love and worry in Sam's, Castiel could find no condemnation in himself, nor fear of Dean having crossed some sort of line into darkness. All he saw were the two men who'd convinced him to change sides, to save the world. The ones he still considered his human role models.

"It will be all right," he said one more time.

He saw Sam straighten, giving a more certain nod, before he returned to his brother at the trunk of the car. Sam gave him a playful nudge in the side, and Castiel saw Dean's startled look before he hesitantly nudged back.

And Castiel wondered as he closed the door and prepared to say the same words to Claire, if Sam had heard the power behind them. Because, this time, Castiel fully believed it.

 **The End**


End file.
